


Moment to Moment (1.0)

by Altman



Category: Bleach
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altman/pseuds/Altman
Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo knew exactly what he was doing when he used the Final Getsuga Tenshō; he just didn’t know that everything after he did would be so damn difficult.





	Moment to Moment (1.0)

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! This is my first work for the Bleach fandom, so I apologize for any OOCness.  
> As of right now, this is only a one-shot, but I'd really like to continue this (probably diverting from canon, and if I do, the main relationships will most likely be Ichigo/Rukia and Uryuu/Orihimi/Tatsuki, and tags will be added accordingly).
> 
> Edit: Yep, I'm continuing this, but as a separate work! However, this will be left up as is, just because.

Kurosaki Ichigo knew exactly what he was doing when he used the Final Getsuga Tenshō. The consequences of employing the technique had been very clearly explained by Tensa Zangetsu, and then reiterated (many, many times) by his father.

He had made his choice, and didn’t regret it.

Well, not much anyway. Not until he had to say goodbye to  _her,_  the one who had given him the power to protect his friends, the one who had stopped the rain, the one who had slowly carved herself a place in his life.

 _Rukia_. Even just her name sets off an oddly intense pain in his chest, but he brushes it aside. Having your best friend leave is supposed to be painful, right?

 _I don’t miss her_ , he tells himself, even though he’d love to see her again.

The first two weeks after losing his powers pass by slowly. He jumps at shadows, still expecting, in spite of everything, to see spirits (to see  _her_ ), like he used to.

But he can’t anymore.

He’s just Ichigo now—just a kid who looks like a punk, body covered in scars, who remembers wounds that aren’t there any longer, and has woken up strangling a scream in his throat every day for the past week—and Ichigo has a normal life: he gets up, goes to school, acts as normal as he can ( _you’ve never held a sword and fought for your life, stop reaching over your shoulder whenever something surprises you_ ), tries to fit back into a life that doesn’t quite feel right.

 _God damn it_ , he thinks, forgetting for a moment that he doesn’t actually believe in God, at least not with a capital ‘G’,  _how is this fair? We won, for fuck’s sake!_

He knows he sounds like a child, whining about ‘fairness’ and ‘winning’, as if war was some playground game.

It wasn’t a game; there was blood and pain and death and constant vigilance that still hasn’t gone away.

 _Sleep is overrated,_  he decides.

 _It’s my choice to stay up_ , he tells himself, as he reads, or studies, or does chores, anything to delay the nightmares. He even gets Ishida to teach him how to sew, the repetitive motions helping him stay calm.

(His first project is a scarf made of Chappy-print fabric.

“I didn’t pick it for any reason,” he lies, “it’s… just what I happened to grab.”

“Ok.” Ishida responds, pushing his glasses back into place. They both know the fabric is only available by order, and a little pricey.

“Really,” he insists.

“I said ‘OK’, Kurosaki. Let’s get back to work.”

The scarf turns out alright, and is then promptly folded up and shoved into  _her_  closet.

 _My closet now,_  he thinks, and the thought stirs up the pain in his chest.)

Since he woke up, the Quincy is one of two people who don’t treat him (all that) differently, the other being Tatsuki; his icy, yet oddly companionable, distance, and her quiet but unwavering determination are a welcome break from the overwhelming compassion of everyone else.

The concerns of his friends are brushed off with an “I’m fine, really.” They don’t stop checking on him, and he doesn’t have the energy to be annoyed.

=(81)[oooo]

The next week is better, but also worse.

Everyone is treating him like he’s fragile (and maybe he is, but so what? they don’t have to act like he’s made of glass), and he doesn’t like it.

Hates it, in fact.

No one tells him anything.

Some thugs try to rob Keigo, and despite the fact that Ichigo is literally just around the corner, Tatsuki steps in to deal with them alone. He only finds out because the principle chews her out in front of everyone the next day.

Chad gets hit by a drunk driver, and calls Orihime to heal his wounds. They are blocks from the Kurosaki clinic, and he wouldn’t have heard about it if Yuzu hadn’t been passing by.

An older man accosts Karin on her way home from school; she breaks his nose with one strike and tells him to ‘Fuck off, I’m calling the cops now’. Ichigo was heading back from the convenience store—he still buys the juice boxes she liked, but only out of habit; he isn’t doing it in hopes she’ll come back (at least, that's what he tells himself)—and sees the whole thing by chance.

Slowly, and probably without meaning to, his friends and family strip from him the one thing he has desperately, doggedly, clung to: the role of ‘Protector’.

He doesn’t understand why until several days later (the fourth week since his powers disappeared – since he last saw  _her_  – but who’s counting? not him) when he finds he can’t get out of bed one morning; everything is suddenly too much for him to do anything beyond lie there and hold back tears, hold in all his emotions, because even if he can’t protect the people he cares about, he won’t burden them. He won’t.

He  _won’t_.

Isshin comes in at some point and hugs him, the simple act of affection proving to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Ichigo is crying, and he can’t isolate the reason why.

_We won? We won. We won? We won. We won? We won. We won? We won._

The thoughts reverberate in his head (or maybe he’s asking and Isshin is answering, he can’t tell), and he clings to his father like he used to cling to his mother; it isn’t the same, but he doesn’t care.

Later, four more arms weave themselves around him and his dad, Karin and Yuzu join them on Ichigo’s severely over-crowded bed, and there are no nightmares that night; he’s too drained for anything but a blank sleep.

 _But you didn’t do anything today,_  a corner of his mind hisses,  _you’re useless._

The next morning, he pretends that nothing happened. No one says anything, and a copy yesterday’s notes are passed to him with no comment.

He hopes it was a one-time thing; he knows it probably wasn’t.

It's his first Bad Day.

=(81)[oooo]

And thus, his first month of being plain ol’Kurosaki Ichigo almost concludes uneventfully. It’s the last day when he slips up, and forgets to feign being fine.

“I should have some kinda party.” He muses during lunch on the roof with his friends, “Get me a banner that says ‘Congrats on making it through your first month of being worthless’ or something.”

Silence.

_Shit._

“You aren’t…” Orihime speaks up, eyes intense, “You’re not worthless.”

He sighs, slowly rising to his feet and turning to lean on the railing, “I know. I… I know, ok? It’s just  _hard_  some days.”

_Please understand what I mean, please understand I don’t want to be like this..._

“Well, you should tell us that!” Her voice is loud, and if it were anyone else he’d say it was approaching anger, but it’s Orihime ( _bubbly and happy_ , he thinks,  _despite everything_ ), “We’re your friends, Ichigo!”

 _Okay, that was definitely anger_ , he realizes, shoulders tensing, pulse pounding in his ears, drowning out the rest of her words,  _and anger means a fight means there’s something to protect where’s the enemy who do I hurt when does the pain start._

“LOOK AT ME, DAMN IT!”

Her voice snaps him back to reality, and he does just that, releasing his white-knuckle grip on the railing.

There are tears running down her face, and he feels oddly jealous of the fact that she’s able to cry so freely. The last echoes of her shout die away, a tense silence settling over the group.

Ishida and Tatsuki are glaring at him, stepping protectively to either side of the girl who shouldn’t be crying but  _is_  crying because of him, or rather, because her perception of him doesn’t match what’s there, and hasn’t for a long time.

Ishida, still glaring, places a hand gently on her shoulder, while Tatsuki, also still glaring, wraps a hand around her waist and pulls her close; later, he’ll look back and find significance in their actions, but that’s later and right now…

“Sorry.” He says quietly, desperately wishing he could find better words, “I’m really sorry, Orihime.”

In truth, he’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for.

=(81)[oooo]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> AN: The break symbol I use in this story ? It's supposed to be the Chappy soul-candy dispenser.  
> =(81)[oooo]  
> Pretty good, huh?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Moment to Moment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12670731) by [Altman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altman/pseuds/Altman)




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